


The Drabble Age

by Cerin



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Coffee, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Heartbreak, Hope, Hunting the wolf, Not Canon Compliant, Trespasser Spoilers, Varric knows EVERYBODY, in another world
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-31
Updated: 2019-02-22
Packaged: 2019-06-19 03:22:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 6,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15501222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerin/pseuds/Cerin
Summary: A handful of shorts, written by yours truly. I've decided to collect and share them with you. There is no planned update schedule.In case you didn't notice, Solavellan is my thing. You've been warned. Angst, heartache and sweets await.Awesome title idea credited to an awesome Canadian. You know who you are.PSA: Most of these are only slightly edited. I may go back and rework them at some point. Who knows?





	1. Hunting a Dreamer

**Author's Note:**

> An elven huntress stalks Fen'Harel. What will happen when she finds him?

The elf stood on the edge of the cliff - all long legs and golden armour. His shaved head and wolf pelt were the telltale signs.

She'd found Fen'Harel.

Rivaini approached slowly, cautious. The mage didn't so much as look her way. She kept her hands poised - ready to cast at a moments notice. But what could she do against one of the Evanuris? He'd freeze her on the spot.

Like Hell would that stop her from trying.

"Solas."

If the elf was affected, he didn't show it. He turned slightly - casual gaze over his shoulder. Demure, even. Rivaini straightened. She'd fought her way into his army for this - this single moment. For answers.

"You're not shy," he mused. "I am not surprised. She would only accept the best."

She bristled. The Inquisitor. He spoke of Ellana. Rivaini did her best to retain her flat expression. It would do Lavellan no good if she failed here. Though she couldn't lie - this was as much for her as it was for the Inquisitor. She _needed_ to know why he left - why he watched her.

"I've come for answers, Solas." She was proud her voice didn't tremble.

"You've come far." He gestured, the landscape shifting to reveal a sprawling elven city. Rivaini wouldn't be cowed or awe-stricken - she'd experienced this many times prior, in his attempts to throw her trail. But she was a somniari as well, though she'd never be as strong as he. "Speak. You've earned it."

"Why did you leave her there?"

Pain struck him - she could see it in his eyes. He hid it quickly.

"It was the wise thing to do." Simple. To the point. Emotionless. Rivaini knew he was lying.

"Is that why you refused to help her? Let them take her arm? She was an archer, Solas! Now she can't even defend herself."

He said nothing, turning from the smaller elf. A gust of wind blew her dark locks to the side. She was affecting him. Good.

"Why do you watch her?" she demanded, stalking closer. "She knows! She knows everything and yet she still loves you!"

Solas was tense - shoulders a rigid line and he folded his hands behind his back, turned from her. But she couldn't relent. She _wouldn't_.

"Var lath vir suledin!"

The elf's hand was around her throat in a beat. Eyes flashing a dangerous blue. Rivaini's stomach plummeted, her hands grasping at his wrist. He didn't choke her - but Creators was she afraid of him.

No wonder he was an ice mage.

"Do not speak of her." A warning - a threat. "You would never understand."

"I do." Her voice broke. "Because she sent me."

Another gust swept through the Fade, golden eyes settling on Solas's back as the elf walked into their edge of the Fade. Rivaini's brown darted between winter and summer. Fen'Harel froze.

"What have you done?" His voice was hoarse.

"You've done this to yourself." Rivaini fell to the ground, slumping as he suddenly released her. She coughed, cupping her throat. "She wouldn't see what you'll become."

Red locks flickered against the pale sky - blood on a perfect backdrop of Elvhenan. The women's lips parted, hand squeezing the shoulder of an arm missing it's length.

"Solas."


	2. Of Frescoes and Memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "In another world..." Why not this one? Solas has lived ages without Ellana until she suddenly shows up in his studio. Can an old wolf dream?

Solas paused, mid-brush stroke, at the woman who wandered into his art gallery. Her golden eyes were wide as she took in the frescos lining the walls. She stood a particular interest in a visage of the Dread Wolf.

Her golden hair fell to her waist in a messy braid. She brushed a few strands behind her ear, sketchbook clutched to her chest.

Solas couldn't put it off longer. Curiosity drove heavy. He had to know if it was her - if he'd finally found her once more.

"Have you taken an interest?" he queried, stopping behind her.

She jumped, nearly dropping her things. A lovely blush colored her cheeks as she averted her gaze.

"Apologies." She sank her teeth into her lip. "I've heard you have an open gallery and that...you allow others to watch you work."

Solas rose a brow.

"I've been interested in your work for some time now," she went on, her speech speeding as she fidgeted with the edge of her sketchbook. "The material you draw is wonderful and - "

"I am Solas, if there are to be introductions," he cut in. Her head snapped up. Golden eyes filling with relief. He offered a smile.

"Ellana."

His heart skipped a beat, throat tight. There was no denying those eyes. No denying the familiar aura brushing his own. It was her. She'd found him. How much did she remember?

"A pleasure." He smiled, gesturing to the pad. "May I?"

She hesitated, looking down to the book before handing it over.

He took it gingerly, thumbing the worn front. The sketchbook had seen better days. The original cover art was worn. The simple, thick paper ruined from age, rain and Creators knew what else. A coffee stain adorned one corner. It was well loved.

Solas flipped through her work. A clear theme visible in a matter of pages. Women with wolves. Strongly posed, with the elven bearing swords, arrows or, on occasison, magic. The wolves were allies often and enemies on occassion. What gave him pause was a single drawing at the end.

His breath caught, fingers gently lifting the page. Skyhold's balcony, done in messy charcoal. A scene that had never existed, though Solas knew it well - had seen how it had truly gone, through dreams.

In 9:42 Dragon, he had left her. Corypheous had been defeated. A celebration had. At the end of the night, Ellana Lavellan had quietly gone to her room, slipped onto her balcony and watched the sun rise over mountains. Alone.

Solas was no fool. He'd seen the hurt. Seen other lives, when her chosen lover would join her. Only once had Ellana allowed herself to dream of him with her. A scene now drawn beautifully on paper. An age-old desire.

He flipped the book closed, offering it to her.

"Your work is lovely, da'len." Her cheeks flushed and he chuckled. "You are more than welcome to watch me work."

Solas returned to his portrait piece. A portrait of a red-haired Ellana, no less. Her eyes filled with determination as she looked to the Breach. Her long hair lashed against the backdrop like fire.

The Ellana behind him said not a word as she took her seat. He tried not to think of her proximity. Tried not to think of the heat against his arm. He tried not to imagine how wonderful it would be to kiss her again. To fill himself full with the taste of her.

His grip on the brush tightened and he exhaled slowly.

Perhaps, in this world, their story would be different. An old wolf could dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any ideas? Shoot them my way. I just may do them!
> 
> Thank you for the support. I hope you enjoy reading the Solavellan angst!


	3. Across an Endless Distance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pulled often into dreams, Ellana discovers a secret of her beloved.

Ellana gazed out across an endless distance. Tonight, the Fade reflected Arlathan. He often dreamt of the ancient elven city. So easy, was it, for him to lose her in the labyrinthine streets. But futile searching led to the discovering of his former home - a glorious castle seated on the edge of a cliff, overlooking the sea. It was none different from Skyhold.

The fingers of her lost hand ghosted over the thick tomes and buried scrolls dusting Fen'Harel's library. The domed room was overflowing with books in elven and Tevene - even the odd Dwarven script. When he'd dream, she'd often skip into his library to study elvhen. She was getting quite good at it.

An unexpected surprise came from a spirt of compassion, three months after she'd discovered his home. The kindly spirit, that reminded her much of the now-human Cole, had led her along twisting stairwells into the top of the largest spire. At first, she'd been hesitant upon opening the door - it was his room. Thick with the smell of him. Even in the fade, but the spirit had ushered her inside.

Thick drapes and messy bedding. As if the Dread Wolf had roused moments before. She could practically imagine Solas, stretching and running a hand down his face. A spirit of nostalgia kindly shifted to give her memory life. Her heart ached.

Compassion led her to a small desk. Out of the way, given light by a single candle was an open book. The ink had yet to dry, but Ellana needn't read it to know what it was.

A journal. _His_ journal.

She didn't read it.

Four nights later, she returned. Compassion led her back to the room, insistent on her reading the book. Again, she refused.

Twice more, did she return. And twice more did she deny her curiosity.

One night, after returning from Skyhold with his frescoes and the tiny spot in the hall where he'd kissed her breathless, Ellana was the perfect amount of hurt to give into Compassion. The spirit, joined by Curiosity, led her hand in hand to the spire. She sat, simply, at the table with the book and the wet ink. 

Her breath caught as her fingers lifted the first page. The page was dated for the night before. Solas's thoughts on the eluvian network and plans to restore a section ruled by Qunari. Simple musings. But, at the end, a simple message: "Ar lath ma, vhenan."

Tears pricked Ellana's golden eyes as she slowly turned the page back, rewinding the events of Solas's life. More about the eluvians. Comments about the weather in the Anderfells. A musing about how Antiva smelled of leather and whores. Pages and pages of his day to day, but one thing never changed.

"Ar lath ma, vhenan."

Ellana covered her mouth to stifle the sob stomach clenching as she held her breath. Compassion wrapped it's wraith arms around her, holding her steady, as she turned the page once more.

The Winter Palace. The Exalted Council. A sob broke free as he detailed every moment from his side. From pushing the dying Qunari into the palace to waiting for her at the top of the hill. Words written and scratched out - the pages stained wet with ink and tears. Her fingers slid over the tightly pressed marks.

Messily, at the end of his aching entry, was the first of a long line of whispered secrets. A phrase he'd told her only once before. A phrase she, in turn, wrote on a fresh sheet within.

_Ar lath ma, vhenan._

That was the final night Ellana saw Arlathan.


	4. Without You Here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Ellana has been through it before.

The Winter Palace was as usual - elegant gowns, coy remarks and enough wine to down a dragon. Or, at the least, delude someone into _thinking_ they could down one.

Ellana brushed back a slip of golden hair that had fallen from her bun. The blasted thing always came loose - no matter how much goo Josephine used to keep it tidy. She tucked it behind her pointed ear.

The palace was alive with laughter, music and gossip. As always. How many times had she been through this now? Twenty? Thirty? Her heart clenched. That was the trouble with past lives - so many bled together. But this wasn't truly a past life. No. A past life is a different point in history - Ellana relieved the same life repeatedly.

She was Inquisitor - the blessed Herald of Amdraste. In some lives she'd taken up the mantle with pride. Others, she was ready to run. Now? She was tired. Tired of being hurt. Tired of living the same events of a year over and over. She was always blind to the repetition until just before the Conclave. Then, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't escape.

One life, she'd paid traders to take her to Antiva. In turn, they stopped off at the Conclave. Once she'd even been in Tevinter, willingly enslaved. The bastard had sent her to the Conclave to see what was happening in the south. Short of dying, she always wound up at those blasted talks. If she did have the gall to kill herself, it began again.

She sank into the wall. This life, she promised it would be different. She would end Corypheous and break this horrid curse. The most painful thing of all was that only she remembered. Her friends. Lovers. None knew they'd gone through the steps before. Never deviating.

By this point, she'd gone through the lot of them. Cullen. Sera. Josephine. Her current partner was Blackwall. Anything to keep her as far from _him_ as possible.

She clenched her fist.

Ellana loved Blackwall. She really did. He was kind. Honest. A strong man. She knew of his deceptions and had already forgiven him. Nevermind that she hadn't been told, yet. He had attempted to repent for his sins - unlike someone else.

Her head felt woozy. How many glasses of wine had she had? Too many to count. Anything to drown out the thoughts of him.

Halamshiral was always the worst. Too many elves. The quiet comments in the halls. The way he brushed back the blasted strand after they'd fought. Calling her beautiful, despite the blood painting her cheek.

Ellana would go mad if she kept it up. This life, she'd made it a point to avoid him at all cost. She knew the outcome. But it never failed that he worked his way into her heart. It never failed that regardless of her lover, he pulled her away from Skyhold to that damned glen in Crestwood. 

She slammed down the wine glass, the thin fragile thing bursting into shards. No one gave her a second look. She stormed from the vestibule, heading past the trophy room to the guest wing. Dorian would be willing to help her drown herself in booze.

Ellana froze, her heart skipping a beat. Pale moonlight filtered in through the tall window panes, striking the carefully carved sculpture. The light glittered of specks of dust, shimmering like stars as they floated in the empty space.

He wasn't there.

She swallowed the lump in her throat, closing her golden eyes. What did she expect? She'd personally chosen to not bring him to the Winter Palace. She'd _always_ brought him. Always. But this time, he wasn't here. She knew why it hurt, but she hadn't expected the blow to come so...unexpectedly.

Ellana hazard a glance down the hall. She hadn't brought Bull, either. Which meant none of her companions would spot her.

She crossed the space, leaning into the marble and closing her eyes. Imaging he was there. Imagining the talk that always precluded the evening.

_...intrigue and sex which permeates these events..._

_You've been to this sort of thing before?_

_The Fade often reflects..._

"Ellana?" The smooth cant drew her from her reviere. "Are you alright? You look positively dreadful."

Her eyes fluttered open. Dorian. A smile broke her lips, a tear slipping down her cheek.

"I'm alright." She wiped at her cheek, shaking her head. "Just a little too much to drink."

That was it - just too much to drink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was inspired by a recent playthrough of DA:I. For pretty much every single game, I've always had Solas on my party for this mission. One of, if not _the_ first time I played without him, I walked into the hall off the vestibule and just stopped. It was so strange not seeing him there, when I'd grown so used to it.


	5. Over Coffee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric knows everybody. Including a certain Graduate student and Professor. Also, there's coffee.

Ellana wasn't sure why she went out with Varric. The dwarf, hilarious as he was, had a knack for drawing crowd. Today was no different.

What had been a simple get together with a friend or two had developed into Ellana squished between an elf and a mage in a tiny booth with half a dozen other people. Not that the elf seemed pleased, either. His blue eyes were narrowed, the grip on his coffee a touch tighter than it should've been.

The mage beside her - Hawke - was telling another raunchy story about her partner, Isabella, who apparently worked in some lucrative industry. She wouldn't say the title, but Ellana was pretty she the woman worked as a smuggler or a stripper. Maybe both.

She heaved a sigh, bringing the French Vanilla cappuccino to her lips. The steam was a welcome escape as she inhaled. Her eyes landed on the book tucked between her and the elf.

 _Fade-touched Materials and Matters of the Fade._ She rose a brow.

"Teacher?" She canted her head to the side, pointing to the book. "Or do you work labor?"

The elf paused, the edge of his lips twitching.

"Professor." The response was brisk. Firm. Her curiosity got the better of her.

"What do you teach?"

The elf paused, suspicion edging it's way into his eyes as he shifted in the booth. His grip on the cup loosened, shoulders relaxing.

"The intangible and tangible study of the Veil," he answered after a moment. "I make hypotheses on the origins of the Veil and the quantifiable measurements of the Fade itself. I also study the history of Arlathan."

Her eyes widened, lips parting in awe as she shifted closer. The elf didn't seem to mind.

"Where were you, when I was in college," she laughed, the sound merrily bouncing from her lips. "I'm writing a thesis on the construction of the Veil in correlation to the declining nature of magic."

His eyes widened, a smile breaking across his face. He leaned into her just a bit. Her cheeks flushed as he regarded her, smile softening to a small half-smile.

"I would be quite interested in discussing the finer details of the Fade." He paused, his shoulder brushing hers. "Perhaps...over coffee?"

A whistle came from across the table and the two elves jumped. Ellana's eyes went wide as Dorian grinned. She didn't realize how close they'd gotten, but it was scandalous if the Vint's expression was anything to go off of.

The elf cleared his throat, gathering his things and worming his way out from the booth. Ellana followed suit, squeezing her way out from between Sera and Adarr. The Qunari gave her a wicked smirk. She rolled her eyes.

Ellana followed after the elf, teeth sinking into her lip.

"My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions." His voice was smooth, a smile curling his lips. She couldn't helprotect returning the gesture.

"Ellana," she replied easily. "So, about that coffee... "


	6. I'm Sorry, Cullen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellana hurts. Solas has left. Cullen offers her a chance. Will she take it?

Light dipped off the edge of the mountains, pouring over the stone balcony as Lavellan sank against the railing. Dawn had come. Corypheus was defeated.

Solas was gone.

Tears stung at the corner of her eyes and she dug the heels of her gloved hands into them to stem the flow. They still smelled of blood and ash - a stark reminder of what had just occurred. Of what they had accomplished.

But it was a hollow victory.

"Inquistor?" a gruff voice came. "Am I interrupting?"

Ellana straightened, swallowing the lump in her throat and flashing the Commmander a tight smile.

"Cullen." She turned to lean against the stone, crossing her arms to hide her trembling hands. "I'm watching the sunrise."

His expression was unreadable, brows pulling together as his eyes swept over her. He moved to take a step forward, but paused, seemingly thinking better of it.

"If I may," he began, pausing slightly. "I've heard about Solas."

She tried not to flinch at the name as she closed her eyes. He should be here. With her. Her chest ached.

"Ellana."

Her head snapped up. Cullen was by her side. She'd not heard him move.

"You told me before that things between us were..." He trailed off, lips pursed. "That you were..." A heavy sigh. "Ellana. Should you ever change your mind? Know that -"

"Cullen," she cut in, hand raised. Her lips curved in a sad smile, golden eyes soft. "Thank you. You're important to me. I care about you."

His expression fell, his gloved hand dropping to the stone rail. He gave her a half smile.

"But," he added softly, head inclined. "I am not him."

She would've phrased it differently. Said it gently. But he was not wrong.

"I'm sorry, Cullen. I love him."

He sighed a gentle breath, nodding with closed eyes. Neither spoke as he withdrew, tilting his head back to look at the sky.

"I understand," he said at last. "I understand what it means to love someone who is gone."

"In another world," she whispered, shaking her head. "Thank you, Cullen."

She kissed his cheek, her hand gentle on his arm. His brows drew together tight, eyes clenched as he smiled.

She didn't want to hurt him, but she couldn't love him. Not as she did Solas - and it would be unfair to give Cullen anything less.

The light peaked off the mountaintops, reflecting on the snow, as Cullen nodded.

"I shall take my leave, Inquistor."

Ellana tried to ignore the pain in the Commander's smile as he turned away.

Her eyes fell to the rising sun, chasing away the dark of night and burning away the horrors. She let out a soft sigh, slipping away from the stone and through the grandiose frames - into the heat of Skyhold and to the celebration below.


	7. Fade Studies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Auditing a class, Emlyn Lavellan's crush is revealed.

Her eyes drifted over the sharp letters on the whiteboard. Ruminations of Fade mechanics. The math went over her head, but it wasn't the material thay she audited the class for.

Emlyn's golden gaze settled on the teacher - Solas. Balancing an open book in one hand and a marker in the other, he completed the complex calculation before turning back to the class.

"These theories, popularized by Genitivi are, at best, base examples and, at worst, pure mockery of the Fade." He snapped the book shut, depositing it on the table. "And, with that, class is dismissed."

Students began shuffling their things. A chorus of jangling backpacks and scraping chairs signaling their leave.

"Don't forget," he added, drawing attention to the fore. "Finals are a week from Thursday. My office is open, should you have any questions."

A few groans echoed in response, but the doors snapped shut moments later. In a few beats, the hall was deserted and only Emlyn and Solas remained.

Technically, Emlyn was a student. A grad student, but a student nonetheless. Auditing her class was part of her final. It only made her crush unbearable.

"Ms Lavellan?"

Her attention snapped up, grip tightening on her notebook. Solas watched her with a cocked brow, a smile playing at the corners of his lips.

"Sorry." Lame. "Professor, my apologies. I'll be sure to vacate quickly."

Creators, she sounded cheesy. She shouldered her bag, skipping the steps two at a time. Solas stepped in her path, cutting off her escape. She rose an auburn brow.

"Ms Lavellan, I do believe this will be your final quarter?"

She paused, nodding slowly.

"If you would kindly indulge me..." His gaze lowered, sweeping over her lips. Dilating when she wet them. "You partook of this class, though you are a humanities major. Why?"

Sweat beaded on her brow. An excuse. She needed an excuse.

"I find...the technical aspects of the Fade fascinating." Not entirely a lie. Only mostly.

His lips quirked and she stared. his chuckle, rumbling deep in his chest, drew her attention. Her cheeks flamed.

She could taste him on her tongue. Lungs filled full of his scent. She felt a little dizzy.

The shit-eating grin he wore told her all she needed - he knew. Not only did he know, he was also teasing her.

She sank her teeth into her lip, peering through lashes.

"Is there a problem, Solas?"

His expression darkened, zeroing in on her. She felt like a halla in a snare - a wolf bearing down on her.

Creators, when did it get so hot?

"Come speak with me, at the end of the week." He straightened. Her head spun. "I do believe it is time you received am approval of your audit." He paused, smiling. "Afternoon, Emlyn."

She was fucked.


	8. Bated Breath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A quiet evening on the Plains - an intention of what is to come.
> 
> Things heat up in the ancient elvhen baths.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An update in honor of Dragon 4ge Day. "Has it affected you? Changed you in any way? Your mind, your morals, your... spirit?" It certainly has mine.

They'd circled one another for weeks. It had become habit - a rhythm. He worked on his frescoes while she attended war meetings. They shared quiet looks from across the field and she made it a point to lean over the rounded upper floor of the rotunda when she spoke to Dorian. He would give her coy smiles in return, covered in paint.

Their game came to an end only when they were traveling - under the cover of night. Still, Solas was careful. He never let her steal more than a tender kiss. Not since their shared dream or the afternoon on her balcony had he given into the fire burning behind his lovely blue eyes. And burn it did, until one fateful night.

Cassandra, Varric and Solas had accompanied Ellana to the Exalted Plains. They'd brokered a deal with the Dalish, sealed a few rifts and settled into the safety of camp. Nearby were the ancient elven baths. Cassandra and Varric had been quick to slough off the blood and sweat of the day, retiring to their tents to rest before their respective watches. Ellana and Solas remained by the fire.

Neither said a word. Ellana gingerly sewed her ruined tunic. A pair of wolf jaws had gotten a sturdy hold and torn the thing to bits. Solas turned the pages of a tome. It was a pleasant silence.

She let out a sigh, tying off the thread and breaking it with her dagger. The new seam was crooked, but it would do until they reached Skyhold. She tucked it into her pack.

Much to her surprise, Solas didn't stare. She wore tight fitting trousers and foot wraps, but, save for her breast band, she was bare. Thankfully summer had settled over the plains. She'd mulled over the thought as she tended to her clothes.

 _He's seen me before,_ she'd reasoned. After all, it was he who tended to her after she fell from the rift. It was he who carefully changed and cared for her when she survived the fall of Haven. When they were safe after their trip to the Fade. She sank her teeth into her lip.

The heat of his kisses were a telltale sign. He was definitely attracted to her.

"I'm going for a bath," she called after a moment, rising from the log. She brushed a swath of red hair over her shoulder - soaked from the humidity.

He paused, page half lifted. Almost imperceptibly, he nodded and let it fall.

She strode from camp with her shoulders squared and chin high.

The water from the baths felt divine. Warmed with the season, it was chilled just enough for her to lose herself in the current. She's left her small clothes on, tossing her bindings onto the bank before sinking into the river.

Of all the things being Dalish meant, river baths were something she'd missed the most.

She took her time. Rinsing her hair and bathing at her leisure. Sure, it was likely her turn for watch, but Solas made it a point to send Cassandra after her.

For what was the better part of an hour, she pampered herself. The moon was high in the sky - full and lighting the Plains. At the crest of the hill, she could see grazing halla. Pillars of demolished buildings jutted into the air. Shoulders sagging, she stepped from the river. 

She'd finished binding her breasts when a gasp caught her attention. Her golden gaze flicked to the source, brow raising at Solas. He stood frozen, staff in hand as he paused at the stairwell.

"Is everything alright?"

The elf offered nothing in return. Ellana wrung out her hair. She was acutely aware of her state of undress - aware of the curved lines of Mythal that traced to her hips. A part of her felt guilty. He didn't like them. He'd been honest about his thoughts toward the Dalish. She knew they'd have no future together.

Somehow the lack of vallaslin on his face and the burning desire to reveal the truth only drove her to him. She knew better. She was First. Duty bound to marry a powerful mage in order to continue the line. Protect the clan. He would never willingly commit to the Dalish way of life. Just as she could never truly leave it.

He continued down the steps in silence, divesting himself of his vest. His grasp paused at the jawbone necklace adorning his neck before he swiftly lifted it off and let it fall to the ground.

"Vhenan," he called, offering a hand to her.

She canted, fingers sliding over his palm.

"Solas?"

His thumb pressed to her lips to silence her as he cupped her cheek. He pressed a tender kiss to her forehead. Her cheeks burned, eyes falling closed.

"You are so beautiful." Another kiss. His fingers settled against her hips, sinking into tanned flesh. "Ar lath, ma vhenan."

His lips slated over hers in a chaste kiss - gone before she could react. She mourned the loss of him, eyes turned towards his. A storm raged behind the pale blue. Indecision warred within. She could practically note the second his control snapped.

Her back hit the stone wall, his hand cupping her head to ease the blow. His lips sank against hers. A moan tore from her throat as he pressed a leg between her thighs.

Their tongues clashed, needy moans filling the baths. His hands grew insistent. Fingers ghosted over her sides and back. He cupped her ass, lifting her into him. Ellana's eyes shot wide at the startling length of him. Nails digging into his sweater, she sighed.

A hiss between clenched teeth as he broke away. Her lips found purchase on his neck. His hands groped at her bottom, rocking her against him. Breathy pants echoing in the air.

Solas was the first to break away. Peppered with her marks, he traced the tender line of her collarbone before bestowing her with one of his own.

"They'll be expecting us," he whispered, his length rigid against her thigh. But this was it. This was where he drew the line. "Varric is holding watch."

Ellana nodded. She slipped her leg from his hip, a sigh falling from swollen lips.

"Do not fret, vhenan," he whispered, lips brushing the shell of her ear. "When we return, we'll plan a trip. Just us two.

"I've somewhere I'd like to show you."


	9. Hunting a Dreamer (Pt. 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An elven huntress catches Fen'Harel. When cornered, will he bite? Or can she save him from himself with compassion alone?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some have voice an interest in continuations of the drabbles. All I can say is Happy Satinalia!

Her hair licked against the false vision of Arlathan, whipped aside by the flurry of wind that signaled her entry into his dream. It had been dumb luck that Rivaini had been able to pull his focus so.

She'd question the smaller elf later.

He stood with his back to her. Shoulders set in a rigid line. Ellana knew that pose - saw him wear it when he'd been unprepared. Certainly he knew she was here.

"Solas," she called, clutching the shoulder of her missing arm. Their part of the Fade stilled. He stopped breathing. She was certain he'd push them both from his dream - he had the ability.

"Ma'assan," he whispered, turning toward her. His expression was schooled into a calm facade. Ellana could see right through it. "As always, you pierce through my walls."

The pet name stung her heart, but she wouldn't be cowed. She nodded to Rivaini who slipped out of sight and out of the dream. Ellana was safe here. There was no need for the elf to stay.

Now only two remained.

"Var lath vir suledin, vhenan," she offered, stepping toward him. The ground ceased to move despite her press. Another trick. He wouldn't let her close. "I told you I'd come for you."

"It is too late, Ellana." He pressed his lips together in a firm line. "Tonight, the Veil will fall."

"And with it, all of our kind."

"They are not _my_ kind." His lips curled. "They are pretenders. Trying to hold to lies that never existed."

"You sound like Corypheous." He started, eyes widening before he turned from her entirely. Ellana took a step forward - it held. "It's never too late to do the right thing, vhenan. There is another way. I've found one. A possibility. You just have to let me in."

Her footsteps froze. The ground refused to move. She could almost touch him. He wouldn't look at her, but she couldn't give in. She was still here, in his dream. So close.

"Solas," she whispered. "Please -"

His lips slanted over hers in a bruising kiss, fingers tangling in her red locks as his tongue sought entrance. She collapsed into him, nails biting into leather. He'd moved impossibly fast, cutting off any plea she attempted to voice.

He stole the breath from her lungs and the words from her lips. She melted into his embrace - warm and welcome.

"Wanting, hurting. The pain is too much. Just one more time," a spirit called. "I will _save_ him."

They froze, pulling back to see the ethereal spirit floating in the space.

"Cole?" Ellana ventured, Solas's' grip on her tight. She leaned into him, fearful he'd retreat.

"Once," the spirit replied, focusing on Solas. "Now I am me. Helping. Healing. You want to do what is right, but you're going blind. Stop. Think. _Feel._ Your heart is in your hands."

Solas dropped his marble gaze to Ellana's golden one. She sank her teeth into her lip. Would he believe?

"We are happy here," the spirit added lightly. "Not the same, but it's okay. There is another way."

Ellana tightened her grip, pressing into him. His arm dropped to her waist, pulling her flush against him. She watched as his gaze shifted to Arlathan, lips pressed in a grim line before his sour expression fell. Her heart skipped a beat as he smiled.

"Var lath vir suledin," he whispered, tilting her head back and drawing her close. "Ar lath, ma _vhenan_."

His lips slated over hers once more, a sigh leaving her lips as he held her tight. Spirits drew close to witness the display. Compassion. Love. Devotion. But one remained in the back - a gentle, smiling presence. A bud of what once was.

_Wisdom._


	10. A Promise Not Kept

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas laments, but allows a moment to last.

When he found her, she was perched on the balcony, leaning against its curved railing as she took in the Frostbacks. The afternoon sun settled over the peaks, the warmed hues a sharp contrast against the chill of autumn.

He took her in. Her curls of auburn and slender waist. She was fuller, now - not the wisp of an elf suffering from malnutrition and an overworked body. She dangerously resembled one of his own.

Solas pressed past the doors, joining her.

"It's beautiful," she sighed, golden eyes skimming the grounds below. "When this is done? When Corypheous is defeated? Will you..."

Her words fell away as she looked to him. He was careful with his expression. A touch of a smile to his lips. The slightest crinkle to his eyes. Academic. He couldn't give anything away.

"It's silly." She blew a strand of hair from her honey eyes, muttering beneath her breath. Unintelligible elven.

"Ma salath," he offered, holding his hand to her. "Ar lath, ma vhenan."

"Vin," she sighed, wrapping her arms around his waist. "Ar lath ma, ma'vhenan'ara."

He held her tightly, her face buried in his chest. Better to hide her, as his face twisted in grief. Guilt. Pain. If she looked at him, she would know. Oh, how easily she could discover the lie.

He was selfish. A selfish, old fool with selfish hopes. He would break it off before things grew worse. Before she was too attached.

The lie was weak. Even to himself, he knew it was far too late.

He kissed her head, smoothing her curls. Perhaps he was selfish. Perhaps he should let her go. But, for this single moment, he would let it be.

In time, she'd stand alone on his balcony, overlooking the Frostbacks alone. For now, he would let it be.


	11. Time After Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellana wakes from a dream, three months after the Exalted Council, and writes her thoughts.
> 
> _Trying a different style. We'll see if it works!_

It has been three months, since the Exalted Council. Leiliana returned to the Chantry after the talks, as Dorian returned the same time to Minrathous. Cassandra left yesterday for the Anderfels. Cullen returned to Honnleath and Josephine to Antiva - a month and a half ago, each. Today Varric left for Kirkwall.

Two weeks ago, Cole left to travel with Maryden. Sera left nearly three - supposedly gallavanting through Ferelden. Vivienne is causing a raucous in Montsimmard, as she has been for the better part of two months. Blackwall is leaving tomorrow for Weishauppt. 

Solas disappeared.

As I pen this, I'm lost somewhere in Wycome. So near to my clan's grounds, I've considered visiting. There is nothing for me, now. My clansmen are dead. And what of me? A bare-faced First with no one to guide. I hate him. I hate what he's done to me. What I've become.

Creators burn me, I still love him. I can't stop.

I received word from Leiliana two nights ago. How she found me, I'm unsure, but I'm thankful nonetheless.

Elves have begun disappearing. Slaves in Ventus, servants in Val Royauex and even flat-ears in Denerim's alienage. Entire clans have vanished. Something is happening. I have to get to Tevinter. His army is growing - I don't know how much time is left.

I saw him, four nights ago. In the Fade. I'm no somniari, but I somehow managed to find a foothold. A long forgotten memory of a young elvhen playing with her brother. The two wove through the verdant forests predating Wycome, embroiled in a game of some sort. The boy had a red ribbon tied loosely around his arm. The girl endeavored to snatch it free.

How long I watched, I'm not certain. A ripple through the memory was the only thing giving away his presence. He seemed surprised. Rather, I assume he was - I couldn't see him. It was as if he was close, but my vision was blurred. I knew he was there, just on the edge. Just out of sight.

As quickly as he'd come, he was gone.

Now I write by candle light - woke from a dream that left my lungs burning and my heart in my throat.

I'd fallen straight into the Fade. No. Not fallen. _Pulled_. I'd woken in a lush bed. Twice the size of the grossly oversized Orlesian one I'd had in Skyhold. Few pillows adorned the mattress and a thin sheet covered me.

At first, I'd been confused. Disoriented. A dream, I'd thought. I'd conjured myself a normal dream. I couldn't recall the last time I'd done that.

The room was large and circular. A glass dome top the ceiling. Large doors, reminiscent of those in my Skyhold bedroom, led out to a grand balcony. Even from the bed, I could see the blue of a sea and mountains, dotted with trees, jutting into the sky.

I was dressed in a thin, gossamer gown that fell to mid-thigh. Softer, than my shift, and twice as luxurious. Simple. My hair had tumbled around my shoulders in a mess of waves. I'd grown it out, since the Inquisition had drawn to a close. I had no need to keep it short for battle.

Books littered the tables and floor. Papers forgotten. A dirty quill and open inkwell brandished on a rogue table.

I endeavor to remember every detail. Every nuance. The salty air slipping into the room. The scent of the sheets that smelled of him. But, still, I cannot begin to understand how it took so long to notice him.

Lying in a pleasant sleep, face twisted with a would-be dream, was Solas. He was on his side. Shirtless, but the loose blanket barely covering him revealed he wore breeches. Pale and glimmering like my shift.

At first, I was convinced. I was delusional. Desperate. A demon of temptation or desire had invaded my dreams - offering me a gift a weaker woman would've taken. But I'd been tempted many times in the months after his departure. I'd long since grown used to handling such terrors - knowing boundaries. Never getting too close.

His eyes fluttered open. Their pale blue slipping up my form and locking with my own golden eyes. I was certain I looked as frightened as a Halla corned by a wolf. I suppose that's exactly what I was.

That was my first hint. The demons could never get his eyes right.

A smile had curved a corner of his lips. Elven had slurred from sleep-addled lips. That was what gave him away. His lithe fingers had curled in my hair, bringing me down to press his lips to mine in a chaste kiss.

I know I stopped breathing. I'm certain of it.

He'd rolled atop me. More elven whispered. The voice of the Well had easily translated them. Endearments. Sorrows. Laments. Love. Love. _Love._ I didn't need the voices to translate that.

I can still feel his hands on my skin. Hear the soft call of vhenan has his lips plied mine. Feel the heat of him against me. See the want in his eyes.

I'd been too afraid to speak. To spoil the moment. To let him know that he had slipped - that it was truly me. But I am selfish. And I am greedy. I let him believe in the fantasy.

We kissed and touched and sighed. His lips barely left mine. Now and then they traveled to my neck - never lower. Even in his fantasy, he would not allow himself more.

Selfish man.

A soft sigh. A whispered apology. Words said that he could not tell me in the waking. Words he never intended for me to hear.

I took it all. Never demanding more. Never willing myself to push the boundary. For, as relieved and happy and desperate as I was for the moment, I knew it would not last. But my memory would. The memory of this place and of the uncapped ink well and the ocean at dawn.

Fen'Harel's home.

When he was done, he willed the fantasy away. I slipped into the waking at the same moment, leaving him unawares.

My name is Ellana Lavellan, First of Clan Lavellan and keeper of Fen'Harel's heart. On my life, I will find a way to save him from himself, or die trying. But now I have a secret not even he is aware of: I know where the Dread Wolf sleeps.

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to see a prompt, shoot it my way. If it interests me, I might do it. No promises.
> 
> Dareth shiral, falon!


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